


Our Blessed Fucking Founder Omega

by notjodieyet



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Family Visit, Gratuitous Cursing From The Master, It's not a real religion but it's Christianity-aligned so be warned, Made Up Gallifreyan Lore, Missy Punches A Bitch, Religious Themes, This was from the TARDIS lounge discord, who's surprised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjodieyet/pseuds/notjodieyet
Summary: Brax comes over for dinner and makes Missy say grace. Missy... doesn't like it.(could be a sdit chapter but like, doesn't fit into the current timeline so we're posting separately)
Relationships: Missy/Rose Tyler, The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/Missy, Thirteenth Doctor/Missy/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35





	Our Blessed Fucking Founder Omega

“I think,” said Missy, staring at the breadbasket in the middle of the table.

“No, you don’t,” said the Doctor, effectively cutting her off and placing a plate in front of her. “You spend your time scheming and dreaming, Missy, not thinking.”

“That rhymes,” said Rose quietly from down the table. Missy and the Doctor both turned to look at her. “Well, it _does_.”

“ _I think_ ,” said Missy again.

“Wait just one second on your _thought_ , darling, that’s the door.” The Doctor patted Missy on the head and rushed out of the dining room and down the hallway.

Rose and Missy’s eyes met. “What were you thinking?” said Rose, kindly.

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” grumbled Missy, and slumped over her set place. (And then straightened nearly immediately. A real lady has a nice posture, after all). “Our guest is here.”

And indeed he was. Irving Braxatiel, looking exactly as bastardly as Missy remembered. To another, untrained eye, it looked as if he’d been kind enough to dress up for the occasion, wearing a sharp two-piece suit to go along with his knifelike grin. Missy knew better; he dressed like this on his off days too. (Not that she thought he took off days). “Master,” he said.

“Missy,” she corrected, cold. 

He laughed at that. “Short for Mistress?”

“Short for —”

The Doctor shot her a reprimanding glare before Missy could say anything particularly dirty. “Short for Mistress,” she confirmed, pulling out a chair for Brax. “Rose made pasta. This is Rose.”

Rose waved, politely. “Hello! I heard you’re my brother-in-law.”

“Hmm.” Brax’s expression was twisty and unreadable. “Rose.”

“Rose Tyler. It’s a pleasure.”

“Yes, well.” Brax sat down at long last, and the Doctor joined him. He served himself a small bit of pasta and Missy stared at him for no particular reason. “Gone a bit off the rails here, haven’t you?” Brax waved around, and Missy saw his eyes linger on Rose for longer than any of the rest of it. Well, if he was going to come into _their_ house and insult _their_ Rose… that was how this was going to be.

“I suppose we have.” The Doctor thought very hard: _Please don’t start anything_ , loud enough that Missy heard it broadcasted directly into her brain. 

_I’ve not been starting anything. He’ll start something. You just watch._

Brax looked strangely at Missy, and she wondered if he had heard them. Fuck if she cared, anyway. He cleared his throat. “Do you still say a prayer over your meals?”

The Doctor and Missy looked at each other. Missy could practically hear the Doctor pleading with her not to say anything. “I never did,” said Missy.

“Hmmmmmm.” Brax obviously disapproved of that. “One couldn’t hurt.”

“No,” said Missy.

“I’m _sure_ one couldn’t hurt,” said Rose, apparently desperate for her new brother to like her. 

“No, Rose.”

Brax grinned at Rose. “Very good idea. Koschei?”

“That’s not —”

“You _are_ younger than me,” said the Doctor. “If you still remember the words, of course.” A challenge. Missy could deal with a challenge. It was a better way of framing things, at least, and she was endlessly grateful to the Doctor for putting it that way. Not, of course, that she would ever _say_ anything about it. 

Missy cleared her throat, closed her eyes, and rested a hand over her left heart, feeling the familiar hammering under her fingertips. “I thank our Glorious Founder Rassilon,” she began.

“In the old Gallifreyan, won’t you?”

“It’s —” started the Doctor.

Missy didn’t open her eyes. “I thank,” she said in old Gallifreyan. It sounded dusty to her ears. “Our Glorious Founder Rassilon for granting us our Gallifrey, our suns, and our lives.”

A small grunt from Brax.

“I thank our Glorious Founder Rassilon for his service to the Time Lords of past and future.”

Brax muttered a small grammar correction, under his breath. Missy pretended not to hear. It had been a long time since she’d spoken the old language, after all.

“I ask the Glorious Founder Rassilon to bless our meal to-day,” she finished, set down her hand, and opened her eyes.

“And?”

“What?” Missy snapped. 

“That’s not all of it,” said Brax, with a horrible smirk.

Missy chewed her lip. “Oh, I’ll show you all of —”

“Missy,” said the Doctor.

Missy glowered at Brax, and closed her eyes again, this time resting her hand over her right heart. “I thank our Blessed fucking Founder Omega…”

“You can’t curse during the prayer,” said Brax.

“I can curse whenever I fucking want to curse! I’m _Scottish._ ” Missy cleared her throat. “I thank our Blessed Founder Omega…”

“Your incantation is wrong,” said Brax.

Missy’s eyes flew open and she said, “My incantation is perfect. _I GIVE THANKS TO OUR BLESSED FOUNDER_ —”

“It’s ‘thank.’ Not ‘give thanks’.”

“It’s fuck you is what it is.”

“Now, Missy,” said the Doctor, her tone far past warning and directly into threatening. 

“You know, you’ve been nothing but rude —”

“You wouldn’t know politeness if it slapped you in the face —”

“That wouldn’t be very polite now, would it?”

The Doctor opened her mouth to say something but couldn’t seem to get a word out, and just gaped like a misplaced fish for a few moments.

“I just think that you’re not very good at this.”

Missy could stand insults to her dress, her appearance, even her general to-do. But insult her _competence_? That was the final straw. Missy launched herself over the table, knocking the bread basket off the table, and punched Brax firmly in the jaw.

Brax sputtered for a moment. “You…”

“MISSY,” shouted the Doctor behind her. 

“Oh, God,” said Rose, who Missy had possibly forgotten about.

“How dare you?”

Missy pulled her arm back for another punch, but the Doctor sprung out of nowhere and yanked her away. “Please, Missy?” she said. 

“Fine.”

Brax stood up and dusted himself off, staring intensely at Missy. “I’ll be going.”

“You didn’t eat,” said the Doctor.

“I’m not hungry,” said Brax crisply. “The exit is to the left?”

“Right,” said Missy.

“Correct or to the right?” said Brax.

“To the right,” said the Doctor. “We’ll reschedule.”

“Yes,” said Brax.

Missy stared at his back as he walked out. The minute she heard the TARDIS door close, she turned to the Doctor and said, “Before you say anything, he was doing that on purpose.” 

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Really?”

“He had it coming, darling. Did you get anything to eat?”

“Do I have to say a prayer?” said Missy, suspiciously.

The Doctor kissed her on the forehead. “Only if you want to. Rose, did you… oh.”

Missy looked at Rose. She had, apparently, eaten quite a bit while the Gallifreyans had been bickering. Rose shrugged. “I was hungry?”

“Fair enough,” said Missy. She took her place again and put the bread basket back on the table.

The Doctor giggled. “Our Blessed fucking Founder Omega.”

“Our Blessed Founder Omega _absolutely_ had it coming,” said Missy.

“Oh, you know who did fuck our Blessed Founder Omega?” said the Doctor, eyes twinkling.

“The Glorious Founder Rassilon?”

“ _The Glorious Founder Rassilon!_ ”

“Ah, you _know_ Rassilon did it with the Other too,” said Missy. 

“The Glorious Founder Rassilon sounds like a bit of a slut,” commented Rose, with a completely straight face only allowed to humans who hadn’t been worshipping the Glorious Founder Rassilon since looming. 

“A bit of a slut!” repeated the Doctor, laughing so hard Missy was worried her ribs might burst. “I love you. Ahhh, a bit of a slut. He sure was, Rose. He sure was.”


End file.
